Four of us shared dinner last week, three of us mothers, one a devoted aunt. The topic of The Denver Post’s series on child abuse and neglect in Colorado shifted our uplifting, complacent conversation.

“I just couldn’t read it,” said one after the other. “It’s more than my psyche can handle.”

Shoulders slumped at the dinner table, each of us feeling powerless to solve this enormous problem. If social workers feel defeated in their attempt to save children, what can we ever do?

My mind drifted to a conversation I had with a young man who himself had been abused. “You know what I do when I see a parent mishandling their child? I offer him a stick of gum. Catches him off-guard. It’s a nonviolent way of letting him know someone’s watching.”

Sadly, it wasn’t two weeks before I was able to use that advice.

I was walking my dog, Kalu, just a block from my house when I heard loud shouting from a nearby porch. A toddler was having a fit, and her mother’s rage was rising by the minute. The dad came out then and added his own berating, the child growing more and more distressed.

Afraid they were getting close to striking, I sprang into action. I marched across the street and stood right in front of their house, staring them down. And then I pulled out my gum: Kalu.

“Would she like to pet my dog?” I asked, walking onto the grass.

The parents looked up, surprised. Gradually, the tone softened.

The mother bent down and scooped up her child. “Wanna see the dog, sweetie? Oh, you’re so tired, aren’t you?” And she sat on the porch and cradled her daughter. Dad hovered, too.

Was this for my benefit? Of course. I worried about what happened to that girl every day thereafter when no one was around. But for a brief moment, a child didn’t get swatted. A little girl heard loving words, felt her mother’s embrace.

A short time later, at dusk, I was walking to my car outside King Soopers. Suddenly, a sharp screech pierced the air. “Get over here, you [expletive] brat.” The child protested, the mother screamed louder. She yanked his arm and threw him into the car before reaching for the second child, fury warping her face.

My heart was pounding, but I planted myself in the middle of the parking lot and faced her dead-on, furtively slipping the gum from my purse. Soon, another customer got out of his car and positioned himself in plain view. Then another and another appeared out of nowhere, like a hallelujah flash mob.

Within minutes, a posse of seven people encircled this woman, each one of us ready to use whatever “gum” we had to rescue a child if needed. There was not a word spoken among us, but it was clear this woman was not going to get away with hurting her children as long as we were around. Regrettably, we weren’t able to change the core problem; all we could do was our best in that moment. And we did.

Talk of remaking our social service agencies to better protect our children abounds. But how about this: Can we gather together as humankind and serve as an important branch of protective services for kids?

We could start with the holidays. Parents will be crawling the malls, often with children, tired, hungry, doing something they hate. They’ll react as children do. We’re going to witness frustration, anger, maybe outright abuse. Hidden among the throngs, though, we could be flash mobs for safety, emerging en force when needed.

All we have to do before leaving the house is make a list and check it twice: